


Don't Panic

by beauyeol



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:13:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beauyeol/pseuds/beauyeol
Summary: Sungyeol is a Secret Service agent. Woohyun is his ex-KGB handler.





	Don't Panic

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at summaries, I know.

“You’d think they would have more interesting things to discuss than same-sex marriage. Aren’t we approaching some sort of disastrous fiscal cliff?”

It’s hard to keep a straight face sometimes, especially when Woohyun is growling through Sungyeol’s earpiece with that annoyed tone he gets around children and improperly behaved toy dog breeds. Unfortunately, half of the Senate is nearby, and Sungyeol can’t crack so much as a smile without attracting attention. Instead, he inclines his head down towards his right shoulder and mutters under his breath, “There is no fiscal cliff. That’s something the media invented to scare people.” Woohyun huffs into the microphone from his end and falls quiet.

This meeting has been dragging out for over four hours now, and Sungyeol wouldn’t even be here were it not for the Vice President deciding, last minute, that he needed to sit down with several Republican officials and try to talk some sense into these idiots. The Secret Service isn’t nearly as glamorous as it appears in the movies. It’s mostly boring, with a side of obnoxious, to follow the leaders of the country around and play fly on the wall – elephant in the room – to their negotiations. Sungyeol decided at eighteen that he hated politics, but his background with the Seals made him perfect for this job. He’s protecting people – that’s just what his family do. And he pissed Sunggyu off last week, so here he is.

So instead of bullshitting around the office with Woohyun and the rest of their division, his feet are going numb and he’s got an itch under the leather strap of his shoulder holster that he can’t get to without causing some kind of national incident. He’s contemplating the pros and cons of rubbing his shoulder against the expensive-looking wood paneling behind him when the senator from Wyoming stands up and announces a Security and Exchange Commission meeting in half an hour. The Vice President relents, and he looks as exhausted as Sungyeol feels. ”We’re moving, Hyun,” Sungyeol says quietly. He hears the quiet rustling of a book’s pages from across the line and forces back a smile. ”Did Harry put his name in the goblet thing?”

“No, but I suspect that Snape may have done it,” Woohyun says, then, “Escort him back to the West Wing, and then our fearless leader is recalling you for the day.” Sungyeol would whoop in victory, but the senator from Delaware is eyeing him like a steak and no. Just, no.

The drive back to the White House is uneventful, and Sungyeol gets back to headquarters an hour later to find the office bustling with activity. There’s a big summit coming up in Washington in a few days – some foreign diplomats arguing over the shitstorm brewing in Syria, most likely – that’s got everyone flustered and snapping at each other with more force than usual. Sungyeol finds it easiest to just focus on his assignments and avoid the clusterfuck that is headquarters during times like these.

Unfortunately, it’s impossible to avoid their director when he comes teetering out of his office with a raised eyebrow high enough to make Sungyeol’s calves ache in sympathy and fixes him with a smile. Oh, that’s never fucking good. ”Lee Sungyeol,” he says calmly, and Sungyeol’s never been terrified of anyone the way he is of Kim Sunggyu. Hell, even Woohyun is scared of him, and he used to kill people in North Korea for a living. ”It’s been brought to my attention that your home address has changed. You’ll need to file the necessary paperwork, of course, but in the future I’ll need to be informed of these things before they happen. We need to know where you are at all times.” And ain’t that just creepy as hell?

Sungyeol swallows down the protest he can feel building behind his ribs and nods deferentially. ”Yes, sir.”  

Sunggyu gives him a long look before turning and walking off, probably to torment more of his agents, because he runs a tight ship – best in the country – but he’s a slavedriver. Whatever. At least he’s not breathing down his neck anymore. Sungyeol makes a beeline for the stairs and practically runs down two flights to reach the basement. There’s a keyswipe entry and some fumbling with his keys, and he can hear Woohyun in his ear still, tapping out the beat to what sounds like Rock of Ages while he types. ”Hey. You catch all of that?” Sungyeol asks quietly.

Woohyun snorts and the typing continues as he speaks. ”It was a matter of time, really. He’s also bound to notice that we have the same home address, now. You can thank Sungjong for that.”

Fucking Lee Sungjong. ”Did you piss him off, again? You know he’s been after your ass for like six months now, right?”

“I’m well aware of his interest. I simply don’t return it. And I didn’t anger him – you did.”

Sungyeol balks and mutters a curse as he pushes through yet another security door. ”What the hell did I do?”

“Yeol, when aren’t you pissing someone off?” It’s delivered in the flat, monotone voice that Sungyeol’s come to associate with Woohyun, but it still stings.

“Whatever. Let me in.”

“You have a key.”

“Yeah, and I’m lazy. C’mon, hyung. Open the damned door.”

There’s a metallic click, and Sungyeol shoves into Operations. The place reminds him of every cliche nerd basement fortress that he’s ever seen on TV, but it’s infinitely cooler. Sungyeol’s not sure if that’s because the information generated here keeps him alive on a daily basis, or if it’s because this is generally where Woohyun lives. Speaking of, his handler has his boots propped up on the edge of his desk, a thick hardcover book in his lap, and he’s wearing one of Sungyeol’s cardigans. ”What are you, my psychotic girlfriend?” Sungyeol drawls as he crosses the mostly-empty room and drops into a chair beside Woohyun. They get the comfortable chairs down here, which makes sense considering how many hours a day the handlers spend sitting on their asses, staring at computer monitors and video feed. ”That’s not even a clean shirt.”

Woohyun glances down at his own chest, picks at the front of the cardigan idly, then shrugs and tosses his book onto the desk. He sits up straight in his chair and stretches lithely, and Sungyeol winces at the audible cracks and pops he hears from Woohyun’s protesting joints. His shirt rides up, exposing dark inked Cyrillic over his hip and disappearing up his ribcage. Sungyeol knows that it spells out the name of Woohyun’s brother because the first thing he’d done when he’d been confronted with bitter eyes and a week’s worth of stubble was pull up Woohyun’s file. The damned thing read like a Bond movie, complete with explosions, murder, espionage, and too much tragedy for one twenty seven year old guy. Recruited into the KGB directly out of college – computer programming, of all things – Woohyun had served his country for years before accidentally getting mixed up with the wrong sorts of people and coming home one night to find his older brother fucking murdered in his bed. Sungyeol doesn’t know the particulars of what happened to get Woohyun out of the North Korean KGB and into the US Secret Service – classified, and so far above his paygrade that it’s ridiculous – but he’s one of the most dangerous people Sungyeol’s ever met.

Sort of hard to believe that when Woohyun spent the better part of today waffling between complex security algorithms and reading him particularly notable excerpts from children’s literature over an untappable line, but Sungyeol knows damned well what Woohyun is capable of. He’s probably got a confirmed kill count to rival Seal Team Six. Sometimes it’s just difficult to remember that when Woohyun makes the scrunched cat face he’s pulling right now, sliding his headset off so that it hangs around his slim neck, and Sungyeol’s eyes are drawn automatically to the nasty scar ringing Woohyun’s throat.

While Sungyeol’s initial aversion to having Woohyun assigned as his handler was due to the guy’s piss-poor attitude – and in Sungyeol’s defense, Woohyun had come across as a drugged up serial killer with a vendetta when they’d first met – his biggest point of contention had arose when he’d asked Sungyeol his name and the dude had raised one hand and spelled it out with his fingers. Turned out that the wicked scar around his throat wasn’t just for picking up chicks, and Woohyun had lost more than his brother and his life back in North Korea. Whoever had slit his throat hadn’t been fucking around; they’d definitely tried to kill him. Instead, the attempted murder had severed his vocal chords completely and rendered him mute. So when Sunggyu had informed Sungyeol that he had a new handler – two weeks to the day after his last one had died in a car accident, the poor son of a bitch – he’d also ordered him to learn American Sign Language and work with Howon to develop a simple text-to-speech program so that they could communicate over the radios. The voice in his ear during missions and assignments wasn’t really Woohyun but a computer-generated proxy that allowed him to guide Sungyeol through his work as effectively as verbal communication.

The first month had been absolute hell. Woohyun was a snarky bastard, writing out stilted and angry messages on Post-Its and leaving them on Sungyeol’s desk in lieu of actual conversation, and he seemed hellbent on proving to Sungyeol that he was just as capable as any of the other handlers. Dongwoo and Howon took him under their collective wing, all of the female agents seemed acutely swayed by his eyes, and Myungsoo inducted him into his comic little clique almost immediately. Even Kibum had offered his elementary knowledge of signing to the other handlers in exchange for candy. It was as if the entire division had lost its damned mind. After four weeks of forced communication and their colleagues’ treating him like a social pariah, Sungyeol had finally marched down into Operations in a fit of fury and demanded that Woohyun quit ruining his life, signing the entire tirade with fumbling hands, because Sungyeol wasn’t an idiot. He was a quick learner, adaptive, and sign language was the same as field stripping a rifle or driving a car.

It seemed that his effort was really all that it had taken to win Woohyun over. Ten months later, they’ve developed their own language, a strange dichotomy of actual signing and rude hand gestures that convey thoughts as well as any voiced conversation. Sungyeol depends on the voice proxy for missions and assignments, but once the headset comes off, Woohyun is all swiftly-moving hands and facial expressions. He’s comfortable with Sungyeol, and that just about tops Sungyeol’s list of shit that is awesome. The mutually-antagonistic coworkers stage had made way for tentative friendship, camaraderie, shared purpose, and eventually became.. this. Sungyeol’s still not quite sure what to label it. He knows that Woohyun is his best friend, his partner, and just recently his roommate. That stems more from Sungyeol’s generally laziness than anything else – his own apartment is in Woodbridge, and that’s too far to drive when he’s just got to come back to DC proper at the asscrack of dawn. Woohyun, meanwhile, has a studio loft in Union Station. He also has an enormous bed and doesn’t mind sharing.

Not that they’re fucking. Because they aren’t. There’s no reason that two dude can’t sleep in the same bed without it being weird. Hell, Sungyeol spent thirteen years sharing space with Daeyeol and another seven in real close quarters with a team of his fellow Seals; it’s almost part for the course.  And if it helps them both sleep better – Woohyun got accustomed to having a warm body beside him, and Sungyeol can relax knowing that he’s got an ex-KGB agent next to him – then neither of them are in a hurry to overanalyze the fact that they wake up sprawled over one another every morning. It’s just a thing that happens, and Sungyeol’s not going to give himself an aneurysm trying to decipher some hidden meaning in Woohyun’s crazy octopus limbs. Dude’s a clingy sleeper, not his soulmate.

“Daeyeol wants to meet up at the bar on Fifth in half an hour. Said something about it being a special occasion,” Sungyeol says, apropos of nothing. “You’re driving.” He tosses Woohyun the keys of his car and doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes to his feet and reaches up to loosen his tie because it’s slowly strangling him. Woohyun reaches up and smacks his hands away, fixing the knot so that Sungyeol can almost pass for a respectable agent, and Sungyeol thinks that Woohyun’s hands are graceful no matter what they’re doing, which is something else that he ain’t going to waste brainpower mulling over.

The special occasion turns out to be a promotion. Daeyeol’s the newly appointed assistant district attorney for DC, and Sungyeol thinks that his enlistment bonus – and his re-enlistment bonus – are paying off in big ways for his little brother. He’s damned proud. He thinks that their dad would have been proud, too. The evening passes in a flurry of refilled beer pitchers and hearty congratulations from guys whom Sungyeol’s never seen before. Around one in the morning, Woohyun gently extracts the glass from Sungyeol’s hand and makes their goodbyes with as little translation as possible and gets Sungyeol into the car. It’s twenty minutes to the apartment, because traffic in the District never really lets up, before Sungyeol’s passed out half-dressed in the center of Woohyun’s ridiculously big bed.

There’s an obnoxiously persistent ringing sound that drags Sungyeol out of sleep almost five hours later. It’s his phone, and he knows this on a rational level, but turning and burying his head in the crook of Woohyun’s bare shoulder seems a better alternative to actually answering the damned thing. His handler huffs in irritation – Woohyun is in no semblance of the phrase a ‘morning person.’ Instead of letting it go to voicemail like a normal fucking person, Woohyun shifts around and clambers half over Sungyeol to snatch the phone off of his nightstand. Sungyeol gets an up close and personal view of Woohyun’s flat stomach and the cut of his hipbone, which is way more interesting than whomever is calling at this ungodly hour anyway, and his hands come up of their own volition to help steady his partner, firm around his sides, thumb digging into the wing of bone under smooth skin where it disappears into Woohyun’s underwear. Woohyun is also sporting an impressive erection. Nothing awkward about this at all.

Sungyeol is not awake enough to fully appreciate Woohyun half-naked and straddling his ribs when his cell phone is thrust unceremoniously into his face. The display is too damned bright in the artificial darkness of the room. Sungyeol recoils from it, blinking rapidly, and checks the screen. ’Sunggyu’ flashes in blocky letters. There’s only one reason that their boss would be calling at this time of the morning – something’s happened. He hits the call button automatically, and it rings as Sungyeol looks up at Woohyun in the dim light and runs his thumb idly over the other man’s hip. Woohyun’s eyes are tired, half-lidded, and he’s listing a little to the side, held up almost entirely by Sungyeol’s large hands spread over his waist. Sungyeol has the insane fucking urge to drag Woohyun’s head down and kiss him until he stops looking so damned sleepy and pathetic.

“We have a situation,” Sunggyu’s voice cuts across the line with no preamble or greeting, and that’s enough motivation for Sungyeol to sit straight up and nearly headbutt Woohyun in the process. “I need you two here in the next ten minutes. Speed.” Then the call disconnects and they’re both scrambling for pants and guns and badges.

The office is in absolute chaos when they get there. Sungyeol doesn’t have time to even open his mouth to demand that someone tell him what the fuck is going down before Sunggyu is storming through the place like the wrath of angels, barking efficient orders at his agents. ”Dongwoo, Sungyeol, and Howon, get suited up for an extraction! I want Sungjong, Woohyun, and Myungsoo in the mobile unit, and someone get Kibum on the damned phone!”

Howon gives Sungyeol a long-suffering look and they both race to their lockers. Changing into full tactical gear is a process borne of muscle memory, and the BDUs are like a second skin after wearing them for so long in the desert. Sungyeol straps his vest into place and doublechecks that his boots are laced securely before booking it down into the parking garage.

The briefing is short and foreboding – two FBI agents in a warehouse down near the port district, a meeting with an informant that’s gone way wrong. Sunggyu instructs them to expect combat. A muscle in Woohyun’s jaw ticks at that, but he doesn’t look away from the monitor in front of him. Sungyeol braces himself against the inside of the van as Kibum takes a turn way faster than a four and a half ton vehicle should ever travel. This is the first emergency mission that Sungyeol has gotten since they assigned him to Woohyun. It’s way more dangerous than their usual detail, and there’s a real chance that he might not come out of this intact. But he’s got a job to do, and two feds to recover, so he isn’t going to worry about that.

Kibum parks a block away from the warehouse, between two massive shipping containers. ”Dongwoo, you and Howon take the side entrance.” Sunggyu gives Sungyeol a look that can only be interpreted as conflicted. ”Sungyeol, you’ll take the back.” He steps closer and pats his cheek in a strangely maternal gesture. ”Time to put all of your urban ops expertise to use. Don’t let me down.” And it’s his tone and the way his eyes soften that really clinches it for Sungyeol, that this isn’t an ordinary extraction, that this is some serious shit. He nods and pushes his earpiece in. Beside him, Myungsoo is giving Dongwoo a thumbs up, all forced bravado, and Sungjong smiles tightly at Hoya before turning back to his computer.

Woohyun is typing resolutely on his keyboard, refusing to meet Sungyeol’s eyes in favor of testing the connection with their radios. It’s the sort of stubborn thing that he does when Sungyeol is being particularly annoying or surly, and Sungyeol squats down beside him and swivels the chair so that Woohyun has no choice but to look at him. ”Hey,” he says quietly, but no one’s listening to them over the last-minute preparations and mic checks. ”You wanna get pizza for dinner tonight?” It’s trivial and stupid, but he doesn’t know what else to say to Woohyun to convince him that Sungyeol has no intention of not walking out of that warehouse. It’s a little stupid that he’s a former Seal and Woohyun is ex-KGB and they even need to have this not-conversation, but then again, their relationship isn’t as strictly professional as they both like to kid themselves it is.

There’s a moment where Woohyun does nothing but stare at him in this painful combination of real worry and utter exasperation, but in the end he just nods and tries to turn back to the computer. Sungyeol reaches up and takes Woohyun’s chin in one hand and gives him a hard look. Then he signs, one-handed,  _No chick flick moments._

Woohyun chews his lower lip for a second before brooding and signing back. _Pineapple and bacon. I don’t care if you hate it._  Sungyeol grins and ruffles Woohyun’s messy hair.

Two minutes later he’s out of the back of the van, covering Dongwoo and Howon into the warehouse with half a stupid smile on his face.

It’s lit like one of those horror movies, all dusty shadows and strange plays of light that offer too many hiding places and not enough control, but Woohyun is in his ear like a verbal building plan, left here, right there, watch out for the staircase up ahead. ”Where are they?” Sungyeol mutters quietly to himself, swinging out around yet another shipping pallet to scan a room gun-first. He wants to use the flashlight mounted to his Sig’s rail, but he also doesn’t want to get shot in the face, thanks. He can’t hear any voices, hasn’t seen any movement, and as he rounds a corridor Sungyeol finds a trail of blood on the dirty linoleum that can’t mean any kind of good. ”I got blood, Hyun. Looks like someone was dragged.”

Woohyun grunts in acknowledgement. ”Myungsoo just got control of the closed circuit security cameras. I can see you. Follow the blood.” Dongwoo and Howon have maintained complete silence so far, and there haven’t been any gunshots since they entered the building, so there’s a casualty or a victim somewhere in this warehouse. Sungyeol’s got to find those feds. He pads down the hall, avoiding the wet red streaks on the floor as best he can – no point in letting someone know that he was here – to an intersection of hallways. He’s waiting for Woohyun to tell him where to go when Dongwoo crackles across the radio. ”I’ve got one of the Feds,” he says calmly, and Sungyeol feels some of the tension in his gut relax. “We’re still searching for the other one."

“Take the left corridor,” Woohyun instructs once the line’s cleared. Sungyeol turns and trains his gun that way, prepared to move, and then there’s a crashing noise from down the right side of the hallway. ”What is that?” Woohyun asks.

“I don’t know.” Sungyeol slides back into the relative shadows of the main hallway. The banging sounds have resolved into heavy footsteps, most likely male, and Sungyeol knows damned well that it isn’t Dongwoo.

“I’ve got company,” he mutters into his shoulder, then swings out into the hallway to confront whomever is traipsing through the damned warehouse like they’ve got a deathwish.

Sungyeol is not fast enough. He takes a hit to the side of the head – _the mic side, damn it!_ – from a guy who could be a linebacker in his spare time, and there’s a brief scuffle before he manages to pistol whip the idiot into an unconscious sprawl on the ground. He takes the guy’s gun, field strips it, then pockets the slide just in case he comes to. He frisks the man quickly, and instead of another weapon, he finds a stylized Cyrillic tattoo on the inside of the dude’s wrist. Fucking North Koreans..

“Lee Sungyeol, what’s your status?”

Sungyeol rubs his temple gingerly, pulling his fingers away to find his glove wet with what he assumes is blood, and frowns. ”I’m fine. Got one incapacitated in the main hallway. Might be a friend of yours.”

There’s a brief pause, and then Woohyun is typing again. ”Sungyeol?”

The gorilla broke his damned radio. Awesome. Sungyeol sighs. He can hear Woohyun, but Woohyun can’t hear him. That’s fucking helpful. Sungyeol looks around and finds the closest surveillance camera, then signs,  _One down. Broke my microphone. North Korean mob._  There’s an annoyed grunt in his ear. ”Do you copy?” He gives the camera a thumbs up. ”You need to find the other agent. Head left.”

The next fifteen minutes are arduous. Sungyeol’s vision is still fuzzy from that hit to the head, but he’s already covered half the damned building and there’s no sign of the other Fed. He's starting to wonder if the woman made it out of there on her own before he showed up, but he doubts it; that blood trail was most likely hers. He skulks down a side corridor and is two seconds from doubling back when he spots a bloody footprint on the ground. And then he hears a low groan of pain, followed very shortly by a soft digital beeping noise. Well, that can’t be fucking good.

Sungyeol knows what homemade explosives timers sound like. Hell, he’d found his fair share during his tours in the Sandbox. He risks giving away his position to turn his tactical streamlight on. At the end of the hallway, there’s a smear of red leading into an open room, and the beam falls on a woman propped against a crate, clutching a messy gunshot wound to her side. On top of the crate, a glowing red counter tells Sungyeol that he has less than two minutes to get the fuck out of this building.

Sungyeol steps back into sight of the nearest surveillance camera and brings a hand up. _Bomb. Found the woman. Getting her out._

“No, you aren’t,” Comes the immediate response. “We’re calling in an explosives team.”

_No time. I’ve got to get her out of here, now._

The voice in his ear doesn’t change in volume or pitch, but Sungyeol can hear Woohyun’s hands flying over the keyboard, and the voice proxy is having difficulties keeping up with the speed of his typing. ”Agent Lee Sungyeol, you need to leave the building. Now. The Director is ordering you to leave the building. Get out of there.”

Sungyeol looks up at the camera. His need to follow orders is conflicting with the ingrained need to save a life, and he knows that if he can just get to her then he can get them both out before the whole place goes up in flames. Probably. It’s better than leaving her here for dead. Sungyeol steels himself and signs something at the camera before ripping out his broken earpiece and ducking down the hallway towards the injured FBI agent and the countdown.

In the mobile response van, Woohyun is staring at his monitor in apparent shock. Sunggyu is snapping out orders to the other handlers, activating a bomb squad to get into the building even though they all know that there isn’t enough time. Myungsoo and Sungjong confirm that Howon and Dongwoo have evacuated the warehouse with the first FBI agent, and everyone is watching Woohyun like he might explode, too. ”What did he say, Nam?” Sunggyu demands. “He signed something. What was it?”

Kibum gives Woohyun a pitying look and replies, “He said, ‘I love you.’”

Twenty seconds later, a percussive blast rocks the warehouse, and Woohyun pulls his headseat off, exits the van, and ignores the other agents’ shouted protests as he runs across the lot towards the building. There’s a fire slowly licking away from the inside of the warehouse’s walls, twisted metal and broken beams littering the asphalt. It looks like something out of a Hollywood action movie, but it isn’t. It’s so real that it hurts, heat coming off of the structure in prickling waves and ash wafting through the air. Dongwoo catches up to him, then Kibum and Howon, and Woohyun is about to march right into the damned burning building when he hears a wracking cough from fifteen feet to his right.

“Sungyeol?” Howon is shouting over the roar of the fire, but Woohyun spots him first. Sungyeol is slumped against a non-damaged portion of the warehouse’s outer wall and he’s cradling an unknown woman against him to shield her from the fire raging several yards away. Kibum and Dongwoo rush forward, collecting the wounded Fed from Sungyeol’s reluctant grip in order to bring her to safety. Woohyun gets to Sungyeol and grabs him around the waist, drags him away from the building and dumps him in the street, and by then the paramedics are wailing down the street with the fire department close behind.

Sungyeol is covered in grime and blood, although not much of it is his. His ears are still ringing from the explosion but his eyes work just fine, and it’s pretty obvious that Woohyun is three seconds away from beating the living shit out of him. ”I got her out,” Sungyeol coughs raggedly. “I’m fine.”

Woohyun’s hands move, sharp and angry. _You almost died._

“But I didn’t,” Sungyeol says, and offers Woohyun a weak grin.

His handler glares at him.  _I hate you._

Sungyeol chuckles, which sends him into another fit of choking. ”No, you don’t,” he wheezes.

Sunggyu forces Sungyeol to allow the paramedics to clear him before he’ll let him leave the scene, and he sends Kibum to debrief him while an EMT cleans the gash on the side of his head that’s been dripping blood sluggishly into his eye. There are butterfly stitches in his eyebrow and the sting of rubbing alcohol along his jaw, which Sungyeol hisses over and generally makes a fuss about. He’s got a split lip and a probable concussion, but he’s not missing any limbs so that’s a plus. Woohyun doesn’t offer any encouragement or sympathy, but he hasn’t let go of Sungyeol’s hand since Sunggyu ordered Sungyeol to sit his ass down on the gurney in the back of the ambulance or else. ”Oh, and the boss wants you to take a few days off,” Kibum snorts. “Try not to get yourself blown up. Again.”  He ambles off to check in with the explosives and ordinance team.

“I’m not getting out of bed for the next three days,” Sungyeol groans. The paramedic is talking to Sunggyu – probably convincing him to have a psych eval done on him – and Woohyun arches an eyebrow at him.

 _I should make you sleep on the couch_ , he signs.  _Or the balcony._

Sungyeol rolls his eyes, and he’s opening his mouth to make some smartassed comment about being an awesome bed warmer when Woohyun grabs him with his free hand fisted in the front of Sungyeol’s SWAT uniform and kisses the fuck out of him. It makes Sungyeol’s split lip throb in protest, and his ribs are starting to hurt too, but he doesn’t pull away. He reaches up and slides his hand into Woohyun’s hair and tries to calm his handler down, because Woohyun is licking into his mouth like Sungyeol is gonna disappear on him.

“Whoa, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs against Woohyun’s lips, kissing him back gently. “It’s okay, Hyun.”

The other agent pulls back a little, enough to look at Sungyeol. _I can’t lose you_ , he signs. Sungyeol feels his gut clench, because he can read the implied ‘like I lost my brother’ in the riot of emotions playing out on Woohyun’s handsome face. _You don’t get to finally man up and admit that you have feelings for me immediately before trying to get yourself killed. That isn’t okay._ He’s signing so quickly that Sungyeol is having trouble translating, and then he’s kissing Sungyeol again, hard and desperate, and Sungyeol doesn’t try to stop him this time. Dude’s a former North Korean intelligence agent. Sungyeol thinks he’d rather go another round with a pile of C4 than piss Woohyun off, again. Besides, it’s about fucking time they stop dancing around whatever this is and act like grownups about it.

“Nam Woohyun, get your tongue out of Lee Sungyeol and take his crazy ass home!” And that’s definitely the director shouting at them from ten yards away, voice so loud that Sungyeol’s asshole clenches in instinctive fear. Christ.

Woohyun shoots him a mutinous look but stands and pulls Sungyeol up after him, shoving him gently in the direction of the fleet of Secret Service vehicles ringing the crime scene. _I swear, that man is the devil incarnate_ , he signs.  _And now I’m sure that we’ll have to discuss the nature of our relationship with him._

Sungyeol pauses on the passenger side of the black unmarked patrol car that Woohyun is apparently commandeering and arches his uninjured eyebrow at his handler. ”What exactly is the ‘nature of our relationship’, Hyun?”

Woohyun blinks at him for a moment, then smirks and raises his hands so that they’re visible over the roof of the police cruiser. _I’m your psychotic girlfriend. Now get the fuck in the car._

**Author's Note:**

> You have to forgive me. This story has been sitting in my computer for almost five years and I just never managed to get it done until yesterday. Imported from my old account, did a remake and changed a bit, hope you like it! >u<;;


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